Harry Potter and the Binding of Newin College
by Lee Kyle
Summary: Auror training was not supposed to be like this. Harry, Hermione, and Luna are sent to investigate Newin College, a guild of powerful wizards with too many secrets. Prologue takes place in the 1960's. Main body of story begins about a year after Deathly Hallows.
1. Prologue

**Prologue:** **Wingardium Leviosa**

The Hufflepuff prefect, Gregory Munslow, stood outside the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, waiting to meet the muggle boy who was about to become his first pupil. Gregory was tired, having just finished his last Owl exam the day before. But excitement at the impending meeting conquered his fatigue.

Just sixteen years old, and hired as a tutor by Hogwarts! Gregory couldn't believe his good fortune. Such a glorious summer holiday it would be, working for the school he loved. And his family really needed the money.

The student coming to meet Gregory wasn't really a muggle, of course. The Headmaster, Professor Dippet, had made that clear. The boy had received a Hogwarts letter on his eleventh birthday, same as Gregory, but his parents had not permitted him to matriculate. They had, however, agreed to private lessons when the child turned thirteen, provided their son had continued to excel in his muggle education.

It was all new to Gregory. He reckoned there must be wizard children who, instead of attending Hogwarts, simply grew up being taught magic by their parents. But the boy he was about to meet was muggle-born. The whole affair had a Hufflepuff feel to it, which pleased Gregory immensely. Hufflepuff trained everybody, regardless of personality or ability. This child was unable to go to Hogwarts? Then Hogwarts would go to this child.

Gregory knew why he had been offered the position. He spent most of his free time tutoring other students, especially the younger ones. Not because he had to, or because he was being paid, but simply because he loved teaching. He had heard the complement whispered by many of his peers, that Gregory Munslow was their favorite professor. During the job interview, Headmaster Dippet had even mentioned this rumor, a moment in the conversation that had embarrassed Gregory greatly. Now here he was, possibly the youngest instructor in the history of Hogwarts.

The assignment was to teach two subjects, Charms and Defense Against the Dark Arts. If all went well, Potions and Transfiguration were to be added the following year. This was straightforward enough. What continued to amaze Gregory were all rules he and his apprentice were going to be allowed to break.

Gregory waited before the Leaky Cauldron because his pupil needed a wand. But the lessons were to take place at the boy's home. To make this possible, Gregory had been permitted to learn Apparition a year early, and had already been granted a license. Even more remarkably, all restrictions on the underage use of magic had been lifted from Gregory, so long as he remained in the employ of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. These restrictions had been similarly eased on his new pupil. The child would be allowed to practice magic in his house, provided no muggles besides his parents observed him.

The Hufflepuff prefect understood he was now free to do the same, and imagined getting drafted by his mother into the rapid performance of a whole host of mundane chores. His little sister was showing signs she might one day receive a letter of her own, but Gregory's parents were muggles. _Parent_ , he should say. His father had passed from cancer back in the fall. The resultant financial hardship had put his education at considerable risk, and he suspected this was another reason the tutoring position had presented itself. Hogwarts was determined to retain its own. Gregory was determined not to disappoint the institution that had placed so much trust in him.

A family of three slowed to within a few hesitant steps of Gregory. The man and woman, both professionally dressed, shepherded a young man with brown hair and brown eyes. The boy approached Gregory with a shy smile, extended a hand, and introduced himself. "Hello," he said. "I'm Aaron Gow."

Gregory gave a firm handshake and returned a smile of his own. "Gregory Munslow. It is a pleasure to meet you."

"These are my parents," Aaron added.

"Very happy to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Gow," Gregory greeted, shaking each of their hands in turn.

"Thank you so much for agreeing to tutor Aaron," Mrs. Gow said. "We so look forward to having you to our home. We'll do everything we can to make you feel welcome."

Gregory felt himself relax a bit. The story of muggle parents who had refused to let their son attend Hogwarts had made him wonder if they might prove angry or argumentative. But both seemed quite pleased, even excited.

Mr. Gow chimed in. "Such an opportunity you're giving our son. Such an opportunity. So gracious of Hogwarts to make it possible."

"It is our pleasure, Mr. Gow. We are confident Aaron will enjoy his education. I will make every effort to reward your trust in Hogwarts, and in me." He gestured. "Shall we go inside?"

The parents hesitated. "You know, we can't actually see it."

Gregory winced. Of course they couldn't see it.

"It's really okay," Mr. Gow offered. "We thought Aaron might go ahead without us. We've already been inside."

"You have?" Gregory asked.

"Two years ago," Mr. Gow explained. "Professor Dumbledore gave the three of us a tour of Diagon Alley, tried to convince us to let Aaron enroll. We suggested this alternative, and he said he would look into the matter. Based upon his subsequent communications, we think he may have had much to do with making this arrangement a reality."

That didn't surprise Gregory. Professor Dumbledore had always struck him as the most open-minded instructor at Hogwarts, and also the kindest. He would have made an excellent Hufflepuff.

Aaron's parents said farewell to their son. "We'll be back in three hours to pick you up." Then they locked arms and headed down the street, beaming over their shoulders like the proudest parents in the world.

"Shall we?" Gregory offered. The boy nodded, and Gregory led him through the door of the Leaky Cauldron.

They did not linger in the pub, instead continuing on immediately through the back entrance.

"I didn't know you had already been here," Gregory commented. "How did you enter?"

"We came through a fireplace," Aaron answered.

"Floo powder?"

"Yes, that's what they called it. Popped right out into a shop. Best day in the world."

Gregory hadn't known muggles could visit Diagon Alley. Certainly he had never seen any there.

"What did you do?"

"Walked around mostly," Aaron replied. "We exchanged money at the bank. That was something else, seeing goblins. I was able to buy a few books."

"They let you buy books?"

Aaron nodded. "I got seven before my money ran out. _Standard Book of Spells_ , grades 1, 2, and 3. _History of Magic. History of Hogwarts. Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection._ And _Essential Defense Against the Dark Arts._ "

Gregory was impressed. "Have you read any of them?"

"My father and I have read all of them. Many times."

This confused Gregory. His parents had never read any of his textbooks. But now that he thought about it, he had never been told they _couldn't_ read them. Best to stay on task, though, and consider such things later. The prefect walked up to the brick wall that granted access to Diagon Alley, tapped it with his wand, and stood back as the entrance appeared.

Gregory was prepared to wander for a bit, on the assumption that his charge would want to pause and enter some of the stores. Aaron seemed determined to turn his money into Galleons, however, so they headed for the bank.

"My mom is an English teacher," Gregory said as they hurried past the storefronts. "How about yours?"

"My mom's a teacher, too," Aaron replied. "Math professor at Strathclyde. Dad's an aeronautical engineer." He looked at Gregory, seemed to realize the older boy didn't know what this meant. "He designs airplanes," he clarified.

"They sound smart."

"They are. They considered letting me go to Hogwarts until they discovered there's no math. Do you really not have math classes?"

It seemed a strange question to Gregory. Certainly it was one no one had ever asked him. He tried to remember back to the muggle school he had attended until turning eleven. Math class every day. If he recalled correctly, he hadn't really cared for it. His father had been a newspaper editor. Their home had been about plays and poetry and the daily edition.

"No math classes," Gregory confirmed.

"Do you know Algebra?" Aaron asked.

"I'm afraid I don't know what that is."

"Geometry?"

Gregory shook his head. He studied Aaron's reaction, wondering if his pupil might disapprove magical education's omission of the subject dearest to his parents' hearts. But Aaron did not seem critical. The absence of math was simply a fact to note. The boy walked on.

"It is a rare thing," Gregory commented. "A student being tutored in magic, I mean. To tell you the truth, I've never heard of it being done before."

"My parents argued that I could learn both. They said magic could be a hobby, if I liked. Or more, eventually, if I took to it. But they're totally serious about university. Dad read at Oxford."

Gregory had heard of Oxford, though he didn't know much about it.

"I'm sure you realize this," Gregory said gently, "but you're going to be quite a bit behind other students your age."

"I know. But that's okay. You graduate Hogwarts at age eighteen, correct? How long will it take until I've learned as much?"

"Perhaps when you're twenty-five," Gregory blurted, feeling immediately embarrassed. He had not wanted to discourage the boy with the impossibility of the task before him.

"That's excellent," Aaron replied, undeterred. "And then what sort of college do you do afterwards?"

"What do you mean?"

"What school do you go to after Hogwarts?"

"There isn't any more school after Hogwarts."

Aaron took this statement stoically, and turned to musing. The two of them entered Gringotts and dealt with money matters. Gregory noted that the boy had enough Galleons to purchase a wand, but probably not much else. His pupil already had the necessary books, though. No robes would be needed. No potion supplies. Aaron wouldn't have an owl, but given they both came from muggle families, Gregory supposed his student could just call him if he had a question. A wand, a few books, and a teacher. For right now, the boy needed nothing more. They left the bank and headed for Ollivanders.

"I've been thinking for weeks about your question," Gregory confessed. "About how long it would take to catch up. You're starting Grade 1 spells at thirteen instead of eleven. That might mean you can pick them up faster than I did when I was a first-year. You'll be having one-on-one instruction, which always helps. And you can practice at home." He uttered this last sentence with renewed awe, for it suddenly occurred to him that Aaron would be able to practice magic all twelve months of the year. That could be huge.

"You won't have the benefit of learning from other students," Gregory noted, frowning. "That's a disadvantage, unfortunately. In practice a lot of the learning takes place student-to-student." _And you'll miss the amazing, unbelievable, life-changing experience of actually attending Hogwarts!_ But the Hufflepuff prefect was much too polite to say this out loud.

Aaron spoke up. "I've been told I might be allowed to attend classes for a week or two each year, during breaks. If you recommend me, that is."

Gregory was mystified. "But that would place you in classes with students much younger than yourself." The awkwardness of a fifteen-year-old boy taking potions with a bunch of first-years!

"That's okay," Aaron replied. "I take math with older students. Catch the shuttle to their school every day. Don't see why it would be a problem doing it the other way."

Gregory imagined Aaron showing up at Hogwarts in the middle of term and getting introduced to the student body during supper. Would they put the sorting hat on him? They would have to sort him. How else could he find a place to sleep? But it was more than that. Life at Hogwarts was built around the house system. You couldn't be a student there and not be in a house.

Which brought up the question that had already been stirring in the back of Gregory's mind: If Aaron _had_ entered Hogwarts two years ago, which house would he have ended up in? The boy seemed studious and intelligent, and his parents had apparently received very advanced educations in the muggle world. So that could mean Ravenclaw.

But what interested Gregory most was Aaron's attitude. Most students in the boy's position would have been bitter and resentful at not being allowed to attend Hogwarts. There seemed to be no anger or reserve in Aaron, however. None. If anything, the young man even agreed with his parents' decision, incredible as that was. It made no sense, though, going to muggle school while also learning magic. What was the point in doing both?

Gregory stopped just short of the wand shop. "How do you feel about all this?" he finally asked. "It seems like two whole school's worth of homework."

Aaron's eyes shined. "I like school," he answered, smiling so genuinely, so thankfully, that Gregory knew it without a doubt. Aaron would have been sorted into Hufflepuff.

Obtaining a wand took half an hour. When they emerged from Ollivanders, there was still plenty of time to go exploring, which Gregory assumed Aaron would now want to do. Instead the boy turned to him and asked, "Will you please teach me a spell?"

Gregory almost said students were not allowed to practice magic away from Hogwarts. But then he remembered that the Hufflepuff prefect was now a Hogwarts instructor, and that Aaron could therefore perform magic right here on the street of Diagon Alley, provided he did so under his teacher's supervision.

A nearby wall produced a scrap of parchment from an old poster. Gregory placed it on the ground, drew his wand, and pointed. " _Wingardium Leviosa!_ " The parchment popped up to eye-height. Gregory sent it flying around both their heads, then caused it to land gently where it had started.

"Pull your wand," Gregory instructed, taking position beside his student. "This is the hand motion. It has to be done very precisely. And you have to say the words just so. Go ahead and practice."

Aaron was a quick study. He caused the piece of parchment to hover on his third attempt. The boy laughed with delight, finally looking and acting like a true first-year student. "I did it!" he shouted. And he performed the spell over and over again, chanting _Wingardium Leviosa_ with unabashed happiness until Gregory could not help but join the child in laughter. The prefect had forgotten the feeling of one's very first spell, properly performed. Wonder. The boy felt _wonder_ – and Gregory felt it through him. This was the joy of teaching.

Eventually Aaron sat with his back to a shop wall, and took to making small stones levitate. Gregory was impressed. Perhaps starting at age thirteen really did help. Then Aaron paused.

"Do you really think there's such a thing as magic?" he asked.

"I don't understand," Gregory said.

"I mean _magic_ , real magic. Do you think it's real?"

Gregory was at a loss. "You're doing real magic right now, Aaron."

Aaron stared at the pebble hovering before him. He made it dance in midair with tiny flicks of his wand. "My dad and I have talked a lot," he explained. "He's decided that magic means getting something for nothing. I've increased the potential energy of this pebble. If no energy was used to do so, then I've gotten something for nothing."

Gregory shook his head. He had no idea what the boy was talking about.

"There's always a cost," Aaron clarified. "That's what my dad says. Every action, every act. When work is performed, there is always a cost. He's teaching me the formulae, pretty advanced stuff. I'm in Algebra 2, so I can make sense of some of it. Energy's always lost. No process is a hundred percent efficient. There's always a cost. But magic. Magic means no cost, right?"

Aaron let the pebble fall. He sat silently, thinking thoughts that Gregory did not, could not, understand.

Eventually Aaron stirred and asked, " _Is_ there such a thing as magic?" Then he smiled cheerfully, pointed his wand at the pebble, and uttered the one spell he knew: " _Wingardium Leviosa._ "


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1:** **Shame**

Wand at the ready, Harry Potter apparated into a dry, dusty wheat field. Hermione and Luna appeared a moment later, and the three of them put their backs to each other in a loose triangle, scanning the surroundings for whatever it was that had caused Ron to summon them.

They had arrived in the middle of nowhere. A wooden farmhouse sat decaying in the distance. A few trees dotted the horizon. Otherwise there was nothing but brown, blowing dirt supporting rows of feeble, withering grasses. _This is supposed to be Spain_ , Harry thought. It didn't look like Spain.

Ron emerged from the farmhouse and raised a hand, motioning for them to join him. They hurried that way, Harry in the lead, wary of hidden threats. Ron did not seem in immediate danger. He looked quite impressive in his Auror's robes, wand at his side, and he smiled widely as his three erstwhile rescuers joined him on the porch.

"Miss me?" Ron asked, giving Hermione a tremendous bear hug.

Harry lowered his wand and pulled a gold coin from his jeans pocket. He had not had time to change into robes.

"Emergencies," Harry insisted. "Emergency use only." But he smiled as he said it, happy despite himself. He hadn't seen Ron for three months. None of them had.

"Let me see," Ron said.

Harry held out the coin. Hermione had upgraded each Galleon with six tiny, magical jewels. Ron had pressed the three corresponding to Harry, Hermione, and Luna. And the three of them had come.

"It really did guide you right to me," Ron said, giving Hermione an approving look.

"Always so surprised," Hermione retorted, a clear struggle taking place between her happiness at seeing Ron and her annoyance that he had made them drop everything and rush to his location.

"Had to apparate seven times to get here," Harry said. "But yes, it lead us straight to you. Which is where, exactly?"

"Villar de Olalla," Ron said. "Population 1,079. Can't you tell?"

Luna had wondered off around the farmhouse. She returned from her inspection humming a tune they had learned in one of their training sessions. Harry tried to ignore her.

"There's no one here," Luna said, and began digging at the dirt with her foot. "No rocks."

"So?" Ron asked.

"Spain has rocks," Luna observed, and shifted her attention to a puffy cloud that had temporarily blocked the sun.

"Well it's Spain all the same," Ron said sharply. He didn't seem to have missed Luna.

"What are you up to?" Harry finally asked.

"The office got a hold of some rumors, lots of magic being done in this area. Sent me to look into it. It's taken me a few weeks to get it sorted, but I think I've figured out what needs to be done."

"But this isn't an _emergency_ ," Hermione finally protested, now producing her own coin. "We came as fast as we could. Like we were supposed to, you know. And here we find you just…doing nothing, it seems. And why didn't you summon Neville and Ginny?"

"They're taking Newts, aren't they?"

"If you of all people think exams are more important," Hermione protested, "then obviously it isn't an _emergency_."

"It might become one, now that there are four of us."

That wiped the smiles from their faces.

"Like I said," Ron explained, "I've been trying to figure out what happened here. Whole village of muggles gone and all that. An antique farm in its place. There were clues." He paused and raised his hand. "Don't ask me to tell you. You wouldn't believe me if I did."

He gestured at the front door. "It's a portkey, I think. The house, I mean. If I understand right, it requires exactly four people to activate, at least one of whom has to be a witch."

"That's awfully specific," Hermione said, skeptical.

"Like I said, clues. I certainly haven't been able to activate it by myself, and I've tried for days."

"Four people," Harry said. "We're still in training. Shouldn't you send for other Aurors?"

"Yes," Ron answered, a sly grin covering his face. "I should."

Harry nodded. He felt the same way. Better to have the DA at your back than all the Aurors in the world. Harry knew he wasn't the greatest wizard in the world, despite what the _Daily Prophet_ kept saying. But Hermione Granger _was_ the best witch in the world. As long as they had her, they could handle anything.

"I think all we have to do is go in," Ron explained, "and the portkey will activate."

"Where does it go?" Hermione asked. Luna kept humming, smiling at the sky.

"Hopefully wherever all the missing people are," Ron answered.

Harry didn't see any reason for further delay. He felt excited, relieved. A whole year stuck in training while Ron kept getting to go out and do something useful. "Let's do this," he said.

Wands lifted, they entered. The sky darkened at once, accompanied by a great wind that shook the frail structure until it seemed it would come apart. The entire house lifted right off the ground. Harry was thrown to the floor, but he managed to hold on to his wand. They were spinning, spinning. "Ron!" he shouted, dizzy and crawling. It was useless. No one could hear him. A suffocating darkness smothered Harry. He passed out.

* * *

When Harry came to he found himself standing alone in a cornfield. Except he wasn't really standing. It was more like he was hovering two or three feet above the ground. Something was attached to his back, holding him in midair. He couldn't get off, whatever it was, but he could move his head around. He squinted against the sun as he tried to study his surroundings. His arms were also free. He stretched them out to get a look, and that's when he realized they were straw.

He wore white gloves and a long-sleeved green shirt made of thick material. Tufts of straw poked out from where his wrists should have been. Strands of rope were tied around the bottoms of the sleeves – holding his stuffing inside the clothing, perhaps? He felt his chest, his stomach, his thighs. Nothing solid, all straw. His face felt like burlap, and on his head rested a soft, pointy hat. There was no escaping the obvious. He had been transfigured into a scarecrow.

Harry was no stranger to the phenomenon called transfiguration. He had studied the subject for six years at Hogwarts, and had seen his Transfiguration teacher, Professor McGonagall, alter reality in extraordinary ways. Consequently, Harry felt more angry than afraid at his unfortunate predicament. He just needed to find his wand.

But his wand was gone. What pockets his clothes possessed were empty, and he couldn't see the wand anywhere on the ground. Not that it could have done him any good sitting in the dirt. It seemed he was well and truly stuck. A crow landed on Harry's shoulder, plucked a stalk of wheat from his neck, and flew away.

"I can't even scare a crow," he muttered. Then he began yelling. "Ron! Hermione! Luna! I'm here, I'm trapped in this field!" He shouted versions of this for a while, pausing to listen for a response. There was none.

"Conferrin' with the flowers, consulting with the rain," he sang for a bit. He tried to stop, but found it difficult. "My head all full of stuffin', my heart all full of pain," he lamented. _If I only had a brain._

Were Ron, Hermione, and Luna tied up in other fields, hoping Harry was going to come and rescue them? Did anyone at the Center actually know where they had gone, or why? It had felt so great, getting away from the misery that was Auror training. An adventure at last! Something to _do_ , out in the real world, where things actually _mattered_. But they hadn't planned it out properly. If they had all been transfigured and rooted, how long might they end up trapped here? How long could they survive?

And then Harry noticed it. At the edge of his cornfield lay a long, winding road. It appeared uniform in width, but it was not made of concrete or macadam. It was paved with yellow bricks.

"Follow the Yellow Brick Road," he sang, though he had not meant to sing it. _That's it. This has to be an exercise._ They had been required to watch the movie just two months ago, and now this? No way it was a coincidence. They were being tested somehow. Their first field test. They were supposed to take the past year's learning, plus their study of this film in particular, to…to what? Get free? Get back? Get _turned_ back?

But the muggles. Over a thousand of them, missing. There was no way the Center would design a test that involved transporting an entire town to who knows where. Especially after having just fought a war to maintain equal rights for muggles. So it couldn't be a test.

The movie, though. The movie! Why had they seen it? Why waste the time? Stuck in this cornfield, however, Harry had no choice but to admit that their Tutor, Gaius Mason, had known what he was doing. All that bizarre, seemingly pointless muggle studies homework was suddenly, immediately relevant to the problem at hand.

Harry went over the film in his mind. Ron had said the portkey required at least one witch to activate. If Harry had been turned into the Scarecrow, that meant Hermione or Luna would become whom? Dorothy? One of the witches? A pang of real fear struck him then, for if either of the girls had been transfigured into the Witch of the East, that meant one of them might now be dead.

"The wicked old witch at last is dead!" Harry blurted, angry at himself. It was an easy line to remember, for it had been proclaimed by more than one character. But Harry had certainly not intended to say it out loud. A demented coercion was at work in this place. He really needed to get down and start figuring things out. If he only had a brain.

Hopefully "Dorothy" would come along at some point and release him. He didn't know what else to think, or how else he might be rescued. Their training had included wandless spells, but although the girls had managed a few, Harry had as yet not succeeded at any. He had made the window of the python's cage disappear at the zoo when he was just ten years old, before he had even known he was a wizard. So magic obviously could be performed without a wand. The skill remained beyond him, though. He stared hard at the yellow brick road, willing a farm girl in ponytails to appear from around the bend.

It had all sounded so appealing. Harry had been weary of war. But he had also wanted to become an Auror. The Ministry of Magic had offered a solution. A secret mission, one requiring muggle-born wizards, an assignment so secret Harry could not be told what it was until after he had agreed to do it. A year of training, followed by a year performing the job itself. It had sounded perfect, exactly what he needed.

Harry was not muggle-born, of course, but he had been raised by muggles. That was all the Office had really wanted. It was only natural that they would try and sign up Hermione as well, and she had accepted. The war had been hard on her, too, though Harry doubted she would have agreed if he had not done so first. The mystery was Luna. Hers was as far from a muggle upbringing as one could get. But the Office of Aurors had recruited her in particular. She had been eager to join up, once she had known that Harry was doing it. And she had certainly taken to the training, almost as well as Hermione. Harry was the only one not meeting expectations.

He had tried telling everyone, of course, from the time he had first entered Hogwarts. He was not an exceptionally powerful wizard (Quidditch being the only thing he was really good at). It was the original attack against Harry, combined with his mother's sacrifice, that had given him the unique ability to fight Voldemort. No one believed him, of course. Now that Voldemort was dead, and Harry had shifted to more ordinary challenges, his averageness was manifesting itself in painful ways.

His anger didn't help. Granted, some of what Gaius was teaching them made sense. Harry's special move was disarming an opponent, so obviously he saw the value in being able to perform magic without a wand. Running seemed useful as well. Battle was exhausting; a year of war had taught Harry that much. Cardiovascular exercise, as Gaius called it, granted the necessary endurance. Hand-to-hand fighting would once have struck Harry as pointless, but Dobby had been killed by a knife, not a spell. Harry had also wrestled Draco for his wand, a disarming that Draco's wand had still considered genuine. And the importance of first-aid spells was self-evident, though these were so difficult and so dangerous that Harry didn't think he would ever graduate from practicing on rats.

But muggle studies! That was what they spent the most time doing, to Hermione's pleasure and Harry's misery. Even Luna found it fascinating, like a muggle discovering magic, only in reverse. It dragged up nasty memories from grammar school, from that other life before Hogwarts, a life Harry would much prefer to forget. And how would any of it really help his career in the long run? You didn't need to know Shakespeare to fight a dementor.

Harry brooded for hours. "I could think of things I never thunk before, and then I'd sit, and think some more," he droned, hating himself. The sun passed its zenith, but Harry didn't get hot, or hungry, or thirsty. He hung helpless from his stake, but he felt no pain. Periodically he ran through all the wandless spells they had been practicing, without success. Why couldn't he make the stake vanish? He had done it when he was ten. He should be able to do it now.

Finally he saw her, a girl coming toward him on the yellow brick road. She wore a white blouse, a blue-checkered dress, and ruby slippers. Her long, red hair had been pulled into two ponytails, which hung down in front of her shoulders. She carried a wicker basket over her left arm. A small dog followed along beside her. She rushed toward Harry. It was Hermione.

"Harry!" she cried, relieved.

"You can tell it's me?" he asked.

She nodded, moving immediately to release the metal spike holding him in place. Harry fell to the ground, but it didn't hurt. He stood up and hugged Hermione. He squeezed as hard as he could, but he couldn't really feel her. He gave up.

"Have you seen the others?" Harry asked.

"No," she replied. "But we can guess where they are, right? Oh, I'm so glad I found you! It's just so ridiculous, you know? And us having just seen the movie and everything. At first I thought it had to be an exercise, until…"

"…the muggles," Harry finished.

Hermione nodded. "Not just that, though," she said. "I think I killed her, Harry. The Witch of the East. The house landed, and the three of you were gone, and I went through the door, and there I was - it looked just like the Munchkin village. It was so absurd, I figured I had to be dreaming. Then I saw her legs sticking out. And it wasn't like the film, Harry. There was blood everywhere. She's not only merely dead, she's really, most sincerely dead."

"The slippers?" Harry asked, pointing at Hermione's feet.

"You _do_ look ridiculous," she interjected, allowing herself a small smile. "I can say that, right? Anyway, yes, the slippers were on her feet. Her dead feet. Did I really kill her?"

"You're sure she was real?"

"Yes. I wandered around for a while, by myself. Then the words started to build inside me. Glinda, I mean Mrs. Perkins, says it's part of the magic of this place. It forces you. So finally I said it, Harry. I really said it. 'Toto, I've a feeling were not in Kansas anymore.' That's right, I'm forgetting the dog. Glinda thinks it's probably a transfigured muggle, same as everybody else.

"So anyway, Glinda – I mean Mrs. Perkins – she shows up and runs through her lines. I can tell she's fighting it. Sometimes I gave some dialogue, too, although it was all jumbled. I think sometimes I spoke lines that weren't Dorothy's. Oh, it's just so infuriating, Harry! I can't stop, no matter how hard I try. Knowing magic must help some. The Munchkins kept right to script.

"Anyway, there was a pause, and Glinda got some freedom. Her real name's Samantha Perkins. She's been missing for over a month. I've seen her on posters. She still has her wand, Harry. It's been transfigured to look like a movie prop, but she can still use it. Mine is missing."

"So is mine," Harry said. "We need to look for it."

Hermione agreed to this. They spent ten minutes crawling around among the corn rows, Dorothy's dog yipping, Hermione singing, "Just then, the witch, to satisfy an itch, went flying on her broomstick thumbing for a hitch." She blushed and shook her head. Harry felt naked and helpless. Where had their wands gone? How were they supposed to break the spell without them?

They gave up. "Glinda has tried," Hermione explained, settling onto the dirt in frustration. "She's tried to break the compulsion. But she can't change any of the muggles back, or disapparate, or even alter her own appearance. She was awfully glad to see me. She didn't know anything about the movie. I explained it as best I could, and she was so glad to understand what's going on."

" _I_ don't understand what's going on," Harry complained, "and I actually saw it twice."

"Sorry. So anyhow, the Wicked Witch of the West shows up and finds her sister dead. Glinda thinks they really are sisters. She looked just like the movie, Harry. Green skin, pointy nose. But she just knelt beside her sister's legs. For a long time. Just sat there. She finally got up and said her lines, and I ended up with the slippers. She cackled, too, and it was just so surreal. But her eyes were different, Harry. Not wicked. Sad. But I got angry at her, Harry. I just got _so_ angry."

"I'm with you," Harry said. "Why would she do this? Why would she kill her sister?"

"Glinda doesn't know. But only bad witches are ugly." Hermione winced in disgust. "Glinda says not to fight it too hard. The words build up inside you, and sooner or later there's no stopping them. She says it's best to just let it out now and then to relieve the pressure."

Harry stared at his arms, at Hermione's dress, at the jumping dog. "Have you ever seen a spell like this?"

"I've never even _read_ of something like this. It's overwhelming. I don't think every professor together could do it. I tried using Glinda's wand," she added. "It's not a bad wand. But I couldn't do any better than she."

"If I only had a brain," Harry said. An idea came to him. "You could use the slippers."

"I've thought about it," Hermione said. "But I don't think I should try. What if they work like the house, and I get sent back? We don't know where we are, so I couldn't send help. And I still wouldn't have my wand. No, I think there's really only one option."

Harry agreed. "We follow the Yellow Brick Road."

* * *

They found the Tin Man after passing through an apple orchard. Hermione grabbed the oil can and began oiling Ron's mouth. Ron offered a hapless smile.

"You idiot," Harry said, "When a man's an empty kettle, he should be on his mettle."

"If you only had a brain," Ron retorted, "you'd unravel every riddle for every individual. Hey, why did I say that?"

"Get used to it," Harry said. He took the can from Hermione and started oiling the Tin Man's arms. Hermione hit Ron in the chest, causing a loud echo.

"I was hoping it would be you two," Ron said. "Guess that means we know where Luna is. You look awesome," he directed at Hermione. "Red hair at last."

"It's auburn," Hermione replied, annoyed. "And how do you know where we'll find Luna?"

"This place, these transfigurations," Ron explained, "they're from a movie called…"

"We know," Hermione said. "Muggle children watch it when they're little. How do _you_ know?"

"It was the main clue. I watched it so many times. Guess I figured it out right."

Harry moved on to oiling Ron's legs. He had been thinking about how he and Hermione were going to explain away their knowledge of the film. Ron was not allowed to know anything about what they were studying at the Center. Hermione had settled upon the most obvious solution to this problem. They had both grown up in muggle households, after all. Ron seemed satisfied.

"How did you get us into this mess?" Hermione asked, accusingly. "Why didn't you tell us the clues?"

"Thought you might not agree to try it," Ron said. "Didn't want someone else going through the portkey. I wanted it to be us. I missed you."

Hermione huffed, but Harry could tell Ron's explanation made her happy. They filled Ron in on what Hermione had learned from Glinda.

"She really is a wicked witch," Ron concluded. "Is it dark magic?"

"I don't think so," Harry said. "More crazy than anything, I think."

"Doubt the muggles care one way or the other," Ron concluded. Harry had to agree. Over a thousand of them, perhaps all transfigured. Certainly their lives interrupted and co-opted. Wasn't it exactly how the Death Eaters had treated non-magical people, humiliating and enslaving those who could not defend themselves?

"Why, Ron?" Hermione demanded. "Why drag us into this? You should have had Aurors come. Other Aurors," she added hastily. Ron was a full Auror, after all, even if they were not. Destroying a horcrux was a good move to have on one's resume. It pricked at Harry's pride, Ron an Auror when he was not. Ron didn't see it that way, of course. From his perspective, Harry and Hermione were off learning super-advanced magic. If only he knew!

"Why?" Hermione insisted, smacking Ron again on his large tin chest.

"Well," Ron offered, "if I only had a heart, I would say it was because I love you."

Harry and Hermione stared blankly. This statement was so unlike Ron. Harry had no idea how to respond.

"I wanted _you_ here," Ron said, directing his words toward Hermione. "I gathered all the clues, spent weeks trying to figure out what to do. But then I realized I didn't have to solve the problem. I just had to get you here. You're the smartest witch in the world. And the second-bravest," he added, glancing at Harry. "I decided that was the solution. Get Hermione here, and she'll figure it out. Admit I can't do it. Admit Hermione can. Get her here. Get Hermione here." He placed a metal hand gently on Hermione's face. She blushed.

Harry shook his head and stepped away. The magic of this place obviously affected much more than their outward appearance. And if Ron was going all super-sensitive, that implied Harry was suddenly the one with the smarts. If he got a brain, perhaps he would deserve Ginny, and even be worthy of her. She could be sitting for a Newt exam this very moment. A test Harry had never taken, and never would.

Suddenly Hermione shoved Ron so hard he fell over. "I killed someone, Ron!" she screamed. "Don't you get it? I _killed_ her. I killed her!" Hermione broke down sobbing and collapsed opposite the Tin Man. "What have you done, Ron? What have you done to me? I'm Dorothy! Don't you know what that _means_?"

An insane cackling cut off Ron's reply. Harry turned and saw a woman with a broomstick standing on a nearby cottage roof. She had green skin and a narrow, hollow face. Her pointy nose and black robes made her the very caricature muggles thought of when they heard the word "witch." There was one difference from the movie, though. The witch wore a necklace of bright jewels, a large red one prominent in the center. She fingered this red jewel absentmindedly as she spoke.

"Forgotten about me, eh? Well, I haven't forgotten about you," she threatened.

Ron pulled Hermione to her feet. Harry joined him, and they shielded Hermione as best they could.

"Helping the little lady along, are you, my fine gentlemen?" the Witch demanded. "Well, stay away from her! Or I'll stuff…"

Harry took a step toward the Wicked Witch and said, "I am Harry Potter."

The Witch of the West fell silent. She stood there for a while, perched like a vulture, studying each of their faces. She nodded.

"Brave ones," she said, more to herself than to them. "Yes. It is good this way. The justice of it pleases." She cackled again and disapparated in a cloud of orange smoke.

Harry faced Hermione. "I'll get you to the Wizard," he said, "whether I get a brain or not."

"I'll get you to the Wizard," Ron added, "whether I get a heart or not."

Hermione took both of their arms. "Oh, you're the best friends anybody ever had!" Then they couldn't help themselves. They all started laughing. But the humor tasted bitter in Harry's straw mouth. He wanted out of Oz, badly. He reckoned Hermione wanted out even more. And it wasn't hard to guess why.

"That witch is batty!" Ron proclaimed. "Completely off her rocker."

"Agreed," Harry said. "But we don't have our wands. And we still have to find Luna. So we press on."

They continued down the Yellow Brick Road, soon entering a dark section of forest. Harry considered Hermione's immediate future. It was not a promising one. If the house had really killed the Witch of the East, would Hermione have to kill the Witch of the West? Harry knew what it was like to have a terrible destiny thrust upon you. Kill or be killed. The guilt, the sense of helplessness – a crushing burden. Surely Hermione had realized how the story might end, how it might _have_ to end.

He took Hermione's arm and fell a few steps behind Ron. "We're not being given any choices," he whispered. "You didn't choose to land on that woman. It's not your fault."

"The middle of a ditch," Hermione croaked. "Not a healthy situation for the wicked witch."

"That's what I'm saying," Harry insisted, trying to squeeze her arm harder. "There has to be some way to end this…What's that word Gaius taught us? This… _simulation_. You know where it's headed if we can't get off this road."

Hermione nodded, and her demeanor hardened. "How _dare_ she? And to all these people, too?"

"To _you_ , Hermione," Harry emphasized. "What's worse, to get murdered, or to become a murderer? What are you going to do?"

"Perhaps decide to kill the evil bitch. Molly did when she fought a wicked witch."

Harry, quite taken aback, didn't know what to say. The land of Oz made them sing against their will. Was it also compelling their actions? Were they making any real choices at all? Harry recalled the love potion Ron had swallowed, how it had taken complete control of its victim. Ron had not been aware of what was happening to him. Hermione _was_ aware. And they were all fighting the urges being thrust upon them. They just weren't…strong enough.

Could Dumbledore have freed himself from such a spell? If only they had their wands! Harry thought of the Elder Wand. For the first time since the Battle of Hogwarts he felt tempted to retrieve it. Surely the Elder Wand, a Deathly Hallow, the most powerful wand in existence – surely it could loose them from this bondage if wielded by its true master. But Harry knew no way to summon it.

They caught up to Ron. Hermione fell in between the boys, and everyone walked silently, or at least tried to. Fragments of dialogue kept bursting from their mouths like exploding snaps: "Some people without brains do an awful lot of talking" and "Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain." But all three of them did manage to suppress the one song they dreaded most.

"I don't like this forest," Hermione said, taking the boys' arms. "It's dark and creepy."

It was certainly dark enough, Harry thought. Eventually they came upon a great lioness blocking the road. The great beast sat calmly, contentedly, singing softly as she stroked the end of her tail.

"Oh, my," Harry said.

Luna gave him a dreamy, whiskery smile. "Lions and tigers and bears, Harry. Lions and tigers and bears."

They took a few minutes to get Luna caught up. To Harry's relief, she feigned complete ignorance of the film. Granted, she did keep breaking into song. "Life is sad, believe me, Missy, when you're born to be a sissy" seemed to be her favorite line. And it was annoying that she seemed to be making no effort to resist the compulsion. But the magic of their prison was enough to explain her words, and Ron asked no awkward questions.

They continued along the Yellow Brick Road. Harry now felt the urge grow even stronger inside him, the longing to do what they had thus far held in check. It didn't help that Luna kept humming it. Dorothy, the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Cowardly Lion finally paused, looked at each other, and came to a silent, collective decision.

"No one can ever know," Hermione insisted.

"You got that bloody right," Ron declared.

Then they locked arms and began skipping, singing as they went: "We're off to see the Wizard, the Wonderful Wizard of Oz!"

* * *

The field of poppies happened as expected. Dorothy and Toto and the Cowardly Lion fell asleep. A snowstorm came and woke them up, presumably Glinda's work. Harry hoped she was glad to finally do something useful with her wand. They talked their way into the Emerald City, ignored the cheering muggles, and went immediately to the Wizard's palace. Inside they found the throne room with the giant screen. But there were no flames, no booming voice. Instead there was just a middle-aged man wearing an old-fashioned suit, sitting on a stool and staring at them glumly as they approached. He wore a necklace similar to that of the Wicked Witch of the West, though the large, red jewel in the center was conspicuously absent.

"Heroes," he said as they gathered around him. "This is unexpected. But it's all the same in the end. I can't give you what you seek until you bring me the broom of the Wicked Witch of the West."

"Who are you?" Ron demanded. "What in bloody hell is going on?"

The Wizard of Oz turned to Hermione. "Is my sister dead? The Witch of the East?"

Hermione nodded. The man hung his head and began weeping. "Madness," he groaned. "Such a madness." He wiped his nose on his sleeve. "But why did Felicia have to go along with it? Now she's gone, and why? What purpose, any of it?"

They stared silently, forcing the Wizard to continue.

"When the Death Eaters attacked," he said, "Elizabeth ran. And we ran with her. We should have stayed and fought. Maybe I thought I could help her. Likely enough I was a coward. And everyone blamed her afterwards. How could they not? You see her power all around you! But she fled, and people died, and weren't they right to blame her? So smart, we Ravenclaws. What does it matter, if we refuse to fight?"

"How did she do it?" Hermione pressed, moving forward.

"Elizabeth girded an Archflame," the Wizard answered, as though this explained everything. "We always knew she could, but she would never take the risk. And then she finally does, and what does she make? This ridiculous…" – he waved his hand through the air – "…this ridiculous suicide note!"

"How do we break it?" Ron asked.

"Surely you've figured it out," the Wizard replied, keeping his attention fixed upon Hermione. "The spell has been bound," he said, fingering his necklace. "Only her death can unbind it."

Hermione slapped the Wizard across the face. The sound echoed through the chamber, but the man said nothing. Hermione struck the Wizard again and again, until he fell to the floor. Harry felt immobilized, shocked by such un-Dorothy-like fury. She jumped upon the Wizard of Oz and kept pounding, tears pouring down her face. "What did she do to me?" Hermione cried, frenzy and fear increasing with each blow she delivered. "WHY DO I WANT TO KILL HER?"

"Isn't that what Aurors do?" the Wizard croaked, blood streaming from his mouth and nose. "Suicide by cop, the muggles call it. You have to save these people. You have to save yourselves. Bring me her broomstick. There is no other way."

* * *

Harry thought furiously as they hiked toward the Witch's castle. Hermione stomped beside him, ignoring her dog, mumbling under her breath.

"It could be a test," Harry finally offered. "It's possible, no matter what we think."

Hermione said nothing.

"I've felt how you're feeling," Harry implored. "Truly I have. Don't you think I understand? You have to know it!"

"And what did you do?" she spat. " _You_ saved the world. I only get to save a village."

"Use your head, Hermione. It's what you're best at, remember? Prove you're smarter than all of us. Come up with some other way."

She offered no response. Harry recalled how Hermione had instantaneously thought up a genius escape plan when they had been trapped in the home of Zenophilius Lovegood. A plan that had even included mercy for Luna's father, despite his shameful betrayal. Why couldn't Hermione do the same thing now? Except Harry already knew the answer. He knew the sense of powerlessness, the crushing despair that choked the mind, rendering it useless. The anguish of being bound by fate.

But it wasn't fate at all. It was the deliberate will of one specific person, an apparently despondent woman who had impressed them into her final hours of darkness. The Wicked Witch's actions were evil. Harry hated her.

He still didn't want Hermione to kill the woman. The entire DA had fought at the Battle of Hogwarts. Most of the Death Eaters had been dead by the end. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Luna, Neville, Ginny – any of them could have been responsible for some of those deaths. There was no way to be sure, however. The melee had been so insane, few of the combatants knew for certain who had killed whom.

This would be different. Hermione would know she had deliberately taken the life of an insane, broken woman. A witch who definitely needed committing to St. Mungo's. But not, Harry felt, a witch who deserved to die.

After an hour they came to a sign that read "I'D TURN BACK IF I WERE YOU!"

"The flying monkeys are next," Hermione informed them. "You have to let them take me." She looked at Ron. "You especially. You're the one with a weapon. You could really hurt one of them. They're people. You can't fight back. You'll never forgive yourself if you kill somebody. It's not their fault."

Ron hugged her, or at least tried to, banging against her with his metal chest. The monkeys came soon enough, and Hermione offered no resistance as they plucked her and Toto from the ground. Ron restrained himself during the attack. Luna, however, did not. She growled and bit and took great swipes with her claws as the creatures goaded her from all directions.

"Stop, Luna!" Harry shouted. It was impossible to get her attention. The monkeys ripped Harry into pieces and scattered his stuffing everywhere. It didn't hurt, but it _was_ humiliating. Eventually the Scarecrow, the Tin Man, and the Cowardly Lion found themselves alone, disconcerted and exhausted. Ron and Luna took to repairing Harry. He looked around. There were no dead monkeys, at least. Luna purred, licking her palms. She had stopped singing.

Harry knew this was the critical hour, the one time Hermione would be alone with the Wicked Witch of the West. If Hermione was going to demonstrate her brilliance, it had to be now. Harry wondered what the two women were saying to each other, what arguments Hermione was deploying, what clever plots she was pondering. This had been Ron's plan: get Hermione here, then let her figure it out. Surely she would think of something. She was Hermione!

Toto came back on schedule and led them to the castle. They were supposed to knock out three Winkie guards and take their uniforms, but they found the way into the fortress lined with soldiers on both sides. Ron led them through their ranks, the Winkies allowing them to pass unhindered.

There was no need to go searching for Hermione. She stood in the great hall with her back to the entrance gate. The Wicked Witch of the West waited in front of her, just ten feet between them, broomstick in her left hand, right hand clutching her necklace. Guards stood everywhere, but made no effort to stop Harry, Ron, and Luna as they came up behind Hermione. A Winkie brought forth a bucket of water, set it in front of Dorothy, and withdrew.

Hermione held her ground silently, glowering at the Wicked Witch.

"A day, a month, a year," the Witch said. "It doesn't matter. We wait until you do what you must."

"Just break the spell, Elizabeth," Hermione insisted. " _Please_."

"I can't," the Witch said. "How many times must I tell you? It's been bound. Don't you understand? I can't break it any more than you can. Any more than either of us can damage the slippers on your feet. I must die. There is no other way."

"Then do it yourself!" Hermione commanded in a scathing voice. "Pick it up and dump it on your own head!"

"But that's the problem, isn't it, Miss Granger? I'm a coward. How terrible a vice! Miserable to anticipate, miserable to perform, miserable to recollect. I should do it, yes. But I can't."

"You still have a brother, Elizabeth. I can tell he loves you. Find another way. For his sake."

"I'm the one who dragged him into this, who made him disgrace himself. My death will appease their anger. They'll take him back, I think." The Witch paused at this, mulling the possibility. "Regardless, the spell is bound. You don't know Binding, do you, child? It is the magic of heaven, wonderful and cruel. You will know it after today."

Hermione seized the bucket and cast the water upon her captor. The Wicked Witch screamed in pain and began melting at once, but she did not cackle or curse. She just stared at Hermione and said in a whisper, "I knew a good little girl like you could destroy my beautiful wickedness." Then her clothes collapsed into a pile, and she was gone.

The Winkie guards began cheering, but Harry ignored them, even as they handed the broomstick to Hermione. The bristles were still intact; catching the Scarecrow's arm on fire had not proved necessary, much to Harry's relief. The Wicked Witch at last was dead. But there was no indication the spell was breaking.

"Why haven't we changed back?" Ron asked.

"The story isn't finished," Harry replied.

"But how can it keep going, after she's dead?"

Harry shook his head. He wanted to know what had happened during Hermione's time alone with Elizabeth. He moved in front of her to ask. Hermione's right hand held the broomstick. The other hand was clenched in rage. Her face displayed a panicked wrath, fey and dark. Harry backed off.

Ron approached the pile of smoking robes, bent over, and began picking through the remains. A golden chain had endured, though its jewels had crumbled into ash. Ron lifted a silver ring from the heap and examined its markings in the torchlight. "A triangle and an 'S'," he said, showing Harry the ring.

"It's not a triangle," Harry explained. "It's the Greek letter _delta_. ∆S. Change in entropy."

"What's that mean?" Ron asked.

"No idea. But it's the seal of Newin College."

"Well that explains a lot. They're supposed to be a bunch of nutters."

Ron moved alongside Hermione, tried to take her by the shoulder. She refused to move, gazing at the dead witch's clothes with unrelenting malice. Harry understood, at least partly. He had been forced to do violent things. He had also been blinded by anger, an anger so all-consuming that it had led to Sirius' death. But Hermione's hate still shocked him.

"We should go," Ron said.

"I want her crystal ball," Hermione stated.

Two guards disappeared up the stairs and quickly returned, a giant glass sphere grasped between them. Hermione motioned them to give it to Harry, and he dared not refuse. The crystal ball was almost impossible to carry, it was so large, but he knew he would have to try.

Hermione turned, and without another word led them from the castle.

* * *

The Wizard of Oz took no pleasure in seeing them return, which Harry supposed was reasonable: it meant his other sister was dead. Hermione brandished the broomstick, but did not hand it over. Harry bore the crystal ball.

"When does the spell break?" Ron asked. "What else do we have to do?"

"I believe it's my turn," the Wizard said, producing a diploma. Seeing the Scarecrow did not have a free hand, he thrust the rolled-up parchment inside Harry's shirt. "Dr. of Thinkology," he announced. The Wizard hung a medal around the Cowardly Lion's neck. "Legion of Courage," he said. Lastly he took out a red pin and attached it to the Tin Man's chest. "A ticking heart," he declared.

A globe of light appeared, and Glinda apparated into their midst. "Is it over?" she asked. "Is it finally over?"

"I believe so," the Wizard said.

"But it's not over," Ron protested. "We're still here, and we're still transfigured, and we still don't have our wands."

"Dorothy does the last part, I suspect," the Wizard said. "If she uses the slippers, my guess is you'll return to England as your former selves, with your wands in your possession."

"And the muggles?" Ron asked.

"Likely enough, back to their village."

"You don't know, though, do you?"

"No, I don't. But Elizabeth has made her point, hasn't she?"

"And what was that?" Ron asked.

"That she really did have something to be ashamed of."

"I'll do my best to watch over the townspeople," Glinda promised, "until help can arrive from the Ministry."

"What a nightmare," Ron swore.

Harry guessed Ron would be part of the clean-up effort. He didn't envy his best friend all the work it would take to sort this mess out. That made Harry remember his own troubles. He turned to Luna and whispered, "I really hope we missed Algebra."

"Don't worry, Harry," Luna replied pleasantly. "Now you have a brain."

Hermione was in no mood to say goodbye. "Let's go," she said.

The four of them made a circle. Ron and Luna each put an arm around Harry, who was still carrying the great glass orb. They put their other arms around Hermione, for she continued to clutch the Wicked Witch's broomstick and showed no sign of relinquishing it.

Hermione looked at Harry. "You walked into the Forest alone," she said.

Harry stared back at her. He had told no one about the Resurrection Stone, how his parents and Sirius and Lupin had escorted him to his death. How terrible that walk toward Voldemort had been! But what would it have been like if Harry had gone forth, not to _be_ killed, but to kill? What words would his mother have spoken? What should Harry have said today?

"I was not alone," Hermione decided. Then she closed her eyes, clicked her slippers together three times, and uttered one of the few spells only muggles knew: "There's no place like home."


End file.
